פורים שמח

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Sermon Notes 11/07/15 - Pinchas 5775

The three recent parshiot – Chukat, Balak and Pinchas are texts of
transition. Chukat includes a chronological
transition, in which the narrative skips from the second year of the Israelites’
desert sojourn to the 40th, in which remainder of the Torah takes
place. Balak is a transition of perception,
in which our ancestors emerged from the bubble of the wilderness to experience the hostility of others, presaging much of Jewish
history. And in today’s parashah, Pinchas, the people are prepared for leadership transition – Moshe knows that he will not enter the
Land of Israel and hands the reigns to Yehoshua some months before his actual demise.

This has stimulated me to think about recent transitions in our
community. There have been so many
changes, not least to the physical infrastructure and the way we deploy the
space for davening (more of this in a future sermon and post). But I’d like to focus on the fantastic growth
in the number of young families and small children attending the Shul on
Shabbat morning. In a few years, we’ve changed from a community with just a handful of youngsters to one swamped with babies
and children every week. This is a
tremendous blessing, but also a challenge, as it represents a completely new
demographic reality for our community.
And it’s one that we must get absolutely right to ensure that this
growth continues and everyone, without exception, feels welcome and loved. Periods of transition are fragile and must be
handled extremely carefully.

Many of the new families enjoy participating in tefillah, but others come along only for the children’s programmes or to hang around with their
friends.
I am delighted that we can provide a range of Shabbat morning
experiences that attract the widest range of people and this means that there’s
lots of unfamiliar noise every week – the beautiful sound of children playing
and babies crying. We’re
doing our best to try to ensure that davening and children’s programmes are
synchronised and to encourage parents to look out for their children, but it doesn’t
always work.

Some of us may be troubled by the new sounds around our building, but
I have one clear message – when there’s a baby crying during the sermon, exuberant
children whooping outside during the kedushah or the announcements are drowned
out by chatter, love it!

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Radio 2 Vanessa Feltz Show

24/06/15

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Centenary Sermon

GGS 20/06/15

Shehecheyanu,
Vekiyamanu, Vehigiyanu Laz’man Hazeh

I know that everyone
here joins me in thanking God for having brought our community in good health
to a vibrant 100 years young.

As well as marking our
centenary, this week has seen the 800th anniversary of the sealing
of Magna Carta. It is noteworthy that
100 years ago as we were founded, the 700th anniversary Magna Carta celebrations
were cancelled due to the First World War.
That sobering thought provides an opportunity for reflection on how the
world has changed in the 100 years that have circumscribed the life of our
community to date.

This is not merely a
curious coincidence, but a matter of great significance in the context of our
community. The importance of Magna Carta
can’t be overstated: it had many flaws and foibles, but it remains the basis
for the common freedoms, justice and fairness which have long characterised
this wonderful country, the epitome of malchut shel chesed – a kind,
benevolent jurisdiction within which we and other minorities can practice our
religion freely.

At first glance, this seems
scarcely worth mentioning, but throughout history, Jews have experienced
prejudice and disadvantage in their host countries. As we give thanks today to God for 100 years
of the Jewish settlement and religious life in Golders Green, we owe much to
the religious and lay visionaries who founded this congregation – and bless
their memory today – yet we also give thanks for the conducive, loving and
nurturing environment in which our great community has thrived.

I am often asked why
wine is used to celebrate special occasions in Jewish life. Whether it’s at a major life event such as a
wedding or a brit or to mark the passage of time (kiddush to commence Shabbat
and Yom Tov; havdalah when they conclude; seder night, etc), wine
plays a major role. The Vilna Gaon (d.
1797) offers an illuminating explanation for this. He notes that there are two ways to understand
our relationship with time. The first
recognises that everything in the physical world, including human beings, have
a period of vigour after which they slowly decline into oblivion. The second offers a more otherworldly
perspective, in which we start life relatively ignorant and undeveloped and as
we age, increase our spiritual capacities, and sensitivities. The second, of course, is a Jewish way to conceive
of the passage of time – as each Shabbat, festival cycle and major life-event
passes, we ought to be aware of our growing spiritual capabilities. As the only thing in the physical world that
improves as it ages, wine represents our aspirations and encourages us to bear
in mind Judaism’s mission for the spiritualisation of the material world. In short, wine is perfect to convey the
message that we get better as we get older.

It is in that vein that
I invite everyone present to join me in celebrating the fine, delightfully-aged
wine that is the Golders Green Synagogue, our beloved Dunstan Road community. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s an
unpretentious but full-bodied vintage, one worthy of our love and gratitude. We all feel deep appreciation for a century
of Jewish history, tefillah, Torah study, fine leadership and
inspiration.

What then are the
unique selling points of our community? How
have we managed – with God’s help - to re-energise our congregation over the
past few years? What has enabled us to
witness major membership growth, oversee the refurbishment of our infrastructure,
build the wonderful Rimon School, and with a Shul bursting with young families
on a Shabbat morning have been delighted to appoint Rabbi Sam and Hadassah Fromson
to partner in developing the community?

I expect that every
congregant past and present will have a different answer to this. However, I will just mention three. I’ve called them the three embraces:

·
First – the uncompromising
embrace of serious, authentic Torah ideas. Communities that embrace learning
and demand very high-quality content from their rabbinic leaders, thrive.
Torah lies at the heart of Dunstan Road.

·
Second - absolute
embrace of a non-judgemental inclusivism. We are delighted to welcome and
provide high-quality Jewish life in all senses of the word for people of every
level of commitment, belief, involvement and knowledge.

·
Third – the willingness
to embrace tensions and recognise that we live within complex realities. We recognise that our lives are characterised
by competing demands: spiritual vs. physical; traditional Jewish life vs.
modernity; subordination to community needs vs. expressing individuality. Rather than denying these tensions or
pretending that we can resolve them all, we acknowledge and embrace them and appreciate
the creativity they engender.

We are proud to embrace
these ideas, and I am proud to commit us to constantly bettering our provision
in them all. And I am confident that they lie at the heart of our success.

It has been an
extraordinary privilege to stand at the helm of this community for more than 12
years. And it has only been possible in
partnership with a host of remarkable individuals. In my role as a rabbinic mentor, I’m often
asked for advice in handling difficult lay leaders, but I can’t offer any, at
least not from experience. Vicki and I salute
you and thank you from the bottom of our hearts; may God bless you all with
health, success and the energy to do even more for our community.

Join with me in wishing
our community lechaim, arichat yamim and a hearty mazal tov as we start our
second century. Thank you.

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Sermon Notes 09/08/13 - VaEtchanan & Nachamu 5774

The palpable sense of relief that generally follows
Tisha B’Av is absent this year. I usually
feel that having spent three weeks contemplating the destruction of the Temple
and other horrors of Jewish history, I’ve met my obligation and can leave Tisha
B’Av refreshed, ready for the summer holidays and with one eye already on Rosh
HaShanah. This year, however, given the
recent conflict in Israel and the shocking increase in anti-Semitism in Europe,
the air is heavy, laden with uncertainty and ambivalence – almost guilt – at having
moved back to normal life post-Tisha B’Av.
It feels to me that the notoriously flimsy boundary between valid
criticism and naked anti-Semitism is in danger of collapse.

This past week, the spectre of divestment from Israel again raised its
head. I suspect that for many it will be the anti-Israel
instrument of choice for in the months ahead, in preference to the rather
more demanding option of reasoned discussion.
Those it affects most are our students on campus, who often find
themselves on the front line of anti-Israel hostility. Even if their
convictions are strong, their Israel experience is characterised by the
constant need to justify and defend. The
opportunity that I had as a student to create what Ambassador Daniel Taub once
described to me as ‘my Israel’ narrative – the space that allowed me to
consider what Israel meant to me, what I aspired for it to be and what my role
might be in attaining that – is commonly denied our students, who are constantly
on the back foot.

It is in that vein that we turn to today’s haftarah, the first of the
so-called ‘seven of comfort’ read between Tisha B’Av and Rosh HaShanah,
selected from the 40th chapter of Isaiah. It starts with the famous line:

נחמו נחמו עמי יאמר אלקיכם

Comfort, comfort My people, says
your God. (Isaiah 40:1)

To whom is God is addressing His
words – who should comfort My people?
The Aramaic Targum offers the obvious answer – God is speaking through
Isaiah to His prophets:

נבייא אתנביאו תנחומין על עמי

My prophets! Prophesy comfort to My
people. (Targum Onkelos ad loc.)

This reading (also favoured by
Rashi) does not address the repetition of the word נחמו – comfort, something that
can only be understood properly with reference to the next verse:

Speak to the heart of Jerusalem... her time of estrangement has been fulfilled and her transgression
has been forgiven, for she has been doubly punished by God for all her sins.
(Isaiah 40:2)

It seems that the Jewish people
require a double measure of comfort because their punishment has been doubled,
a view validated by midrashic sources (e.g. Midrash Tanchuma Devarim 1).

Whatever the intention of the
verses, we are only too familiar with this ‘double punishment’ – the media distortions,
the obvious double standards of Israel’s detractors (where are the mass demonstrations
against daily massacres in Syria and exterminations in Iraq?) and the frequent
uncritical adoption of a single version of a war narrative, when, as always,
there are multiple perspectives.

If we are subject to ‘double
punishment’, we need double comfort, as God demanded from our prophets. They must replace pain with comfort,
negativity with positivity and despair with hope.

But today there are no prophets and
so the call of Isaiah must go out to their modern-day substitutes – the leaders
of our communities. That call is not restricted
to rabbis or other formal leaders, but it goes out to everyone engaged in
Jewish life who is able to do something.
All of us can write a letter to an MP or minister, respond to a
blog-post, speak out sensibly against all bias and bigotry, attend an event, support
communal efforts to counteract the negativity and inspire others to do
likewise.

An unfathomable aspect of
the current situation is the unwillingness of many free-world leaders to articulate
something obvious. Many of
those who violently attack and seek the ultimate elimination of the State of
Israel, and especially their financial backers, harbour the same long-term intentions
towards Christians and, indeed, the whole of Western society. As much as we worry about events in Israel
and Europe, we are not oblivious to the brutal, barbaric persecutions of Christians
and Yazidis in Iraq. I believe that Israel
and the Jews are just first in line; in reality, the very fabric of our society
is imperilled for all people, regardless of faith or creed. Emphasising these
threats is one way of focusing the attention of others.

Yet as well as highlighting these wrongs,
we must double our message of hope and comfort.
If the pain is doubled, the message of hope must be doubly powerful.

The importance of articulating the
message is highlighted by Isaiah a few verses further into his prophecy:

Ascend a high mountain, herald of Zion.
Raise your voice powerfully, herald of Jerusalem. Raise it, do not be afraid...
(Isaiah 40:9)

We have to carry our message of hope to high places and speak it where it
can be heard. We should never
underestimate the impact we can have, nor where we have friends – sometimes
critical friends – but friends nonetheless.
They are everywhere, members of every religious groups – Christians,
Muslims, Hindus and Buddhists – and of none.
They exist at the workplace, among journalists and at universities. We must redouble our efforts to build
friendly, functional relationships with them, even when we disagree about
Israel, or, indeed, anything else.

This is one message of hope. The
other is that that our voice, even if it small, cannot and will not be
silenced.

נחמו נחמו עמי יאמר אלקיכם

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Sermon Notes 17/08/13 - Ki Taytzay 5773

This week’s parashah includes more mitzvot than any other in the Torah
– somewhere between 70 and 85, depending on how they are counted. They cover the entire range of human activity
– from marriage and divorce to business ethics; from warfare to the correct treatment
of animals; from hygiene to public safety and purity – and they appear to be
assembled somewhat randomly.

Yet Devarim is a single text – Moses’ great valedictory sermon – and as
such, forms a cogent whole, which means that the order of the mitzvot in this
parashah is significant. The rabbis
interpret some of the juxtapositions quite creatively; two follow.

The parashah begins with three consecutive mitzvot: a) how to treat
the beautiful woman captured in war; b) the prohibition of disinheriting the
son of a hated wife in favour of the son of a beloved wife; c) the elimination
of the rebellious son. The rabbis
comment:

The Torah speaks only to the evil impulse, for if God does not permit
the beautiful captive, he will marry her anyway. Yet if he marries her, he will come to hate
her and will eventually father a rebellious son with her. (Rashi to Devarim
21:11, paraphrasing Midrash Tanchuma Ki Taytzay 1)

The parashah ends with two mitzvot: a) the requirement to have honest
weights and measures; b) the obligation to wipe out the memory of our
arch-enemy Amalek. The rabbis comment:

If you deceive people with weights and measures, you will worry about
the assault of the enemy. (Rashi to Devarim 25:17, paraphrasing Midrash
Tanchuma Ki Taytzay 8)

These explanations may seem a little far-fetched and devised solely to
explain away the juxtaposition, but I believe they are underpinned by a
profound, yet simple, psychological message, one that is certainly germane to
the upcoming Yom Tov season.

A common Chassidic interpretation of the ‘war’ with which our parashah
begins is that is refers not just to an external war against a physical enemy,
but to the internal war that each of fights with our own demons. Going ‘out to war’ is a symbol for the inner struggle
that constitutes a good part of all of human experience. And if we don’t win the battle against crass
desires, selfishness and the tendency to exploit others, we risk transporting the
unresolved demons into relationships that could fail, and, in turn, dumping the
problems on to our children. This is the
meaning of the juxtaposition of the three mitzvot at the start of the
parashah. Similarly, when we exploit
others by robbing them with dishonest weights and measures, we should recognise
(and fear) that we have really fallen victim to the demons within – the Amalek
that prompts to behave selfishly and destructively.

The fact that the Torah worries not just about how we behave, but also
our motivation, is illustrated by the final phrase of the mitzvah of restoring
lost property, also in this parashah. Having
told us that we must not pretend that we haven’t seen the item, rather attempt
to return it to its owner, the Torah says:

לא תוכל להתעלם
(Devarim 22:3)

This phrase is usually translated as ‘you shouldn’t hide yourself’, or
similar, but it really means ‘you should not be able to hide yourself’ – i.e.
you should not be capable of turning aside when you encounter an item that has
been lost by another.

So the Torah regulates how we think – in this case, about a lost object –
but this is only illustrative. We need to
understand what motivates us: why and how we think about things, and to try to
uncover what unarticulated needs or desires prompt us to act. Only then can we avoid pernicious chains of
experience in our lives and the lives of those we love.